


Purpose

by redchanks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Gen, Implied Romance, M/M, One Shot, Post RTJ, Pre-Slash, Pre-TFA, TW: disordered eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redchanks/pseuds/redchanks
Summary: In the wake of his father's death and the defeat of the Empire, Luke struggles to find meaning in his life.





	Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> In case you missed it in the tags, this work mentions disordered eating. If that topic is uncomfortable for you, please don't read; your health is far more important.
> 
> I originally wanted to make romance a more significant part of the story, but didn't want to imply the unhealthy notion that Han's love 'saves' Luke from disordered eating. So how you interpret their relationship is up to you.

The party lasts for days, and Luke watches it thrive around him. The laughter of the people acts as a cocoon, protecting him from scrutiny. He adds nothing to the collective joy. He smiles, and watches, and lets himself fade.  
  
Leia and Han each find their purpose quickly. Leia is a fierce and swift commander, a burning beacon, respecting the past and blazing towards the future. Han is recruited to run missions for the Rebellion off-planet, and Luke does not hear word from him. He chooses to believe that Han is not allowed to communicate. As time passes, this choice becomes harder to make.  
  
The room Luke has been given is humble, as per his request. The view from the window is typical of this planet; verdant, wild, thick and teeming. It could not be more different from Tattooine, and for the first time, Luke longs to return home. He has never before called Tattooine home, but those barren landscapes invoke nostalgia in him now. There was nothing to hide, nothing to fear, nothing to complicate life.  
  
_You hated Tattooine_ , he reminds himself. _You wanted adventure_.  
  
_That’s true_. He concedes. _But what about when the adventure is over?_  
  
***  
  
The others on the base leave him alone to grieve. At least, that’s what he tells himself when he sees eyes diverted and small, closed smiles. Sometimes he thinks that his isolation is entirely self-imposed. He thinks about joining the mess hall, of clatter and chatter swelling around him. The noise becomes discordant to him; he has nothing to say to them, and they nothing to him. This is why he is left adrift, for ‘Luke Skywalker’ is done. There is no need to carry him into the future, other than in history books and fairytales. _So let them have the myth early,_ he reasons as he once again locks the door. _Its all they want anyway._  
  
Of course, he knows this is irrational, but irrationality is so appealing now. Every night he sees Leia chained, Han frozen and irretrievable, his father consumed by flames. His own body is torn through, the lightning sparking within him with every swallow, every touch.  
  
He never really looked at his body before. The scars gleam in the low light, when Luke takes off his tunic and stares for the first time. They are so raised, it almost seems as if he could take one, and snap it off. He could take off this cloak on which they rest, and be left with his true body underneath.  
  
When the Force lies dormant, he can believe he is someone else. He will go to a desolate planet, set up a business, find a new smuggler to give his heart a reason to sustain him.  
  
_What life would that be?_ He wonders.  
  
_Not your life._  
  
_No_ , he corrects. _Not Luke Skywalker’s.  
  
You are Luke Skywalker._  
  
The words are lost in the thickness of the dark.  
  
***  
Luke never slept well at night. For as long as he could remember, he could never fall asleep in an instant. Night stretched into hours, no matter how tired he was, until at last he fell asleep without even noticing the change.  
  
When he was young, he relished these hours of unreality, when the only sounds and colours were those he could spin the thread of fantasy. He concocted tales of his father, one day a pirate, one day a merchant, most days a pilot streaking across the galaxy, throwing out stars in his wake.  
  
As a teenager, he imagined a life beyond Tattooine, at the pilot’s academy. He thought of camaraderie and fissions of excitement at the call to duty. He imagined a place and a people to belong to, united in their purpose.  
  
On the Falcon, he thought of all he had learned. He called the Force up within him, and marvelled at how it could slowly seep through his blood and skin and soul, like liquid gold pooling within him, something special he always knew was there but never found. Other nights, he thought of Han. Cocksure smiles flittering across his vision, a hand reaching out to cradle a back of his head, the moment when lips-  
  
On this base, he had tried to block out all thoughts at first. His father was gone. Tattooine was gone. Han may as well be gone. The Force would not answer him, and he was too scared to call it, for now it felt like a surge of electricity rather than soothing balm. Yet, however much he had dampened his voice, his connections, his emotions, he could not silence his mind. He thought of his body. Time had gone uncharted for him in terms of minutes and hours and days, but his body wore the brunt of his isolation. When he lay in bed, his hips cut slashes in the mattress. Purple and yellow bloomed on his legs from even the slightest knock. He expected to feel vulnerable, but his bones felt like armour against judgment.  
  
_You can see me now. I have nowhere to hide.  
  
You’ve gone too far._ He knows that, of course he knows. It doesn’t make it any easier to stop.  
  
***  
“Where is he?”  
  
Luke’s eyes refocus. He has been holding one hand on his sternum, one on his back, reminding himself how to take air into his lungs and let it out, over and over. Every now and then, his body cannot perform this function. He understands that he cannot go on like his. He does not change.  
  
“Luke! Luke!”  
The sound of Han slamming the door open is more violent and vibrant than Luke has heard since his chest filled his tunic. A smile breaks on his face, unbidden.  
  
“Han”. The word is only a breath, but it sticks in his throat.  
  
Han’s eyes are wild in how they dart over him, the room, absorbing new information and not comprehending any of it. He takes Luke by the shoulders and tenses at how rough his hold is now, when it never was before.  
  
“Kid, kid…” he cups Luke’s cheek, bringing his eyes round so they must look into Hans’ own. “What happened to you?”  
  
Luke almost laughs, but a small smile is all he offers. Han’s eyes loom above him, so familiar in his memories and so unfamiliar in their concern. He never really looked at other people’s bodies before. Han is softer than he remembers, still broad with masculinity, but the soft touch of skin unbroken by jutting bones is novel to Luke now.  
  
“How is Leia?” Luke asks blankly.  
  
Han’s brow creases, eyes squinting, jaw clenching. When was the last time my face was so expressive? “Kid, I don’t know, I’ve been on a mission- I asked about you.”  
  
_Luke, you know it's beyond time to stop this. He’s your friend, he would help you. Just tell him._  
  
“It’s nice to see you, Han. What did you do on your mission?”  
  
***  
  
Han has obtained permission to take him off-planet. Being in the Falcon again takes Luke by surprise; memories do not cascade around him like fireflies he could never catch, and he is present in the moment with Han. His laugh spills from his lips, the sound startling and exciting him in equal measure.  
  
The place Han brings him is more of an island than a planet. The smooth grey of the rock face blends together with the full green moss, both mingling into the blue expanses of the sea. He sits with Han at the peak, and finally his eyes rest upon a view that feels welcome to them.  
  
“I brought us some food.” Han’s voice is tentative. The effort of what is left unsaid hangs between them, and Han’s eyes are self-conscious in the focus they exert to not meet Luke’s own.  
  
The grip of anxiety holds Luke like a vice. But he takes a bite.  
  
_How did I do that?_ He wonders. Still he only holds it in his mouth, unable to go further.  
  
Han gathers all of Luke into his arms, and the feeling of his skin releases something like peace. It sets every nerve alight, but not with sparks or flames or danger. When Luke chews, and swallows, he doesn’t even feel it coursing through him. All of his senses are in harmony with Han’s touch.  
  
_It won’t be this easy_. He reminds himself. _But it’s a start._  
  
***  
  
They stay until the sky is flecked with orange and pink, until the first purples of night creep around its corners. Since his father’s death, the orange of sunset has only felt like fire and smoke burning through Luke.  
  
The Force has been building whilst he sits, not overwhelming, but there. It is a low energy, thrumming with pressure, like the moment before you break the water to suck in air, or the moment you open your eyes in a dream. He has missed it fervently, he knows that now.  
  
“Luke, what is it?”. Han’s lips are pressed into Luke’s hair, neither of them having moved for many hours.  
  
“It’s the Force. I think…I can feel someone calling to me.”  
  
Finally, Luke sees a future unfurling before him, pages upon pages of unwritten purpose. He could build a school, and teach others what he has learned. He could guide children into the future and give them the solace he so craved when he was young. He sees Han and Leia, and whether it's her in Han's arms or him, it doesn’t matter. They are together.  
  
They have hope.  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
